Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum
by hobo-hobisho
Summary: Everything could be simplified into ingredients, order, temperature, movements--there was no variable he could not account for. Snape finds himself in trouble that even the best Potion can't help him out of. SSHG, WIP. R for violence, death, noncon
1. Default Chapter

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.   
  
Rated: R  
  
Warnings: Violence, lots of it. Some of it sexual in nature.  
  
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
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Shaking from head to foot, displaying none of his confidence and prowess, Severus Snape went on his knees before Albus Dumbledore.   
  
"No need for genuflecting, Severus. We are old friends, are we not?"   
  
"Headmaster, I simply must--I mean to say--that is," he stammered, climbing to his feet but still dreadfully trembling.   
  
"Slow down, dear boy."   
  
"Dear boy?" came a derisive snort from an unexpected place. "You're calling HIM dear boy? That loathsome creature, that hideous greasepot of a slimeball!"  
  
"Miss Granger, that will quite do," Dumbledore said mildly, his eyes trained on Snape's shaking face.  
  
"She has every right," he whispered.   
  
"Now, Severus. Surely when we explain the dire--"  
  
"Oh, I know all about the dire circumstances! The spy work for the Order, the importance of keeping up appearances! And its all lies! He's nothing but a coward, a simple coward through and through! He's locked up in his past, harboring ill will to anyone with half a brain because he envies them! He envies us all our freedoms. For he has none. And I understand these things, and make allowances. But tonight the evil man, well, he has simply crossed the line," Hermione panted her rant to a close.   
  
"She definitely has the right to say that," Snape muttered.   
  
"Talk to ME, you foul… you evil… blackheart! Don't talk about me as if I'm not here! I know that I'm 'beneath' you, what with my Mudblood heritage--"  
  
"Stop right there, Miss Granger. I am quite of the opinion that Professor's Snape's transgressions this evening are disgusting, horrendous and deserving of punishment. But I will solidly state that I do not believe he behaved of his own accord."   
  
Snape cast his eyes guiltily down. His head was spinning, he could feel his face burning beneath Dumbledore's gaze. As if the heat emanating from the dreadfully wronged Hermione Granger was not enough to set him afire. "How have we come to this?" he said, more to himself than anyone else. Hermione gave to sobbing, and Dumbledore finally turned his piercing gaze to her. 


	2. Wolfsbane

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.   
  
Rated: R  
  
Warnings: Violence, lots of it. Some of it sexual in nature.  
  
Chapter Two.  
  
"My child," Dumbledore soothed, holding Hermione's weeping form gently. Snape kept his eyes firmly on the ground. A voice inside her chided, 'look at her! Look at what you have done.' The frightening truth, he realized, was that he was not at all sure if this was a voice of pride or shame.  
  
The power of rape, he reflected. To so utterly and completely own one's body and soul in one instant of passion and rage. It was worse than murder, but felt infinitely better. Both were measures of power, yes. And Severus Snape had murdered. He had known the frightening joy which came from watching one writhe beneath his wand, the last fighting breaths leaving their body with torrents of blood. Knowing that at the exact moment the body died, the bowels evacuated--he was of the utmost importance. Not a person mattered more than the one taking your life from you. To be fully honest, Snape had always wanted that power.   
  
As the simple, albeit intimidating, Potions master of Hogwarts, Snape's power was of limited supply. He certainly had the ability to make many a student quake in their robes as he approached them, his patented sneer and dark robes coming in for the kill. But how long had it been since someone looked upon Snape with the sheer reverence-- the desperate idolatry, that veritably oozed from the pores of one about to die by his hand?  
  
But Snape had not entertained these thoughts for some time. It was the rain, he insisted to himself. The rain, the argument with Potter, the loss of yet another opportunity for recognition… it was not at all, he allowed himself to realize, her perfume. Nor was it her dress robes, a little tight around the bosom, nor was it her hair, free and loose and tickling his cheek as they stood in hiding in a Malfoy Manor closet.   
  
His head began to swim again, the order of events horrendously out of synch. When had he chosen--HAD he chosen--to harm her? When did their gentle kisses become her cries and his forceful penetration? Why had he abandoned his morality, why why why why…   
  
"Oddly enough, that's what I was going to ask you." Dumbledore's voice, containing not one discernible ounce of anything less than complete hatred, broke into his thoughts. Snape instinctively went down on his knees again. "It is telling, Severus, how you seem to equate me with your Dark Master," Dumbledore continued.  
  
"He is not my master, sir," Snape argued in a respectful lowered tone. He knew he was acting precisely as Death Eater etiquette dictated one behave before the Lord they had wronged.   
  
"To the point, Severus. What can you say, if anything, to explain your atrocious actions?"   
  
"I can say nothing, sir," Snape lied.  
  
"Do not lie to me, Severus! You have precisely one hour with which to convince me not to kill you with my own hands!" Dumbledore was yelling, and the very sound of the man's normally quiet and genial voice so harsh--it was nearly enough to send Snape for the vial of aconitine in his robe pocket. Ah, undiluted wolfsbane. Upwards of ten grams and one will simply drop off permanently. Quite an unpleasant way to die, really. Diarrhea, sweating, cardiac arrest. All quite fitting a man such as Severus Snape, really.  
  
"Sir, please… allow me one hour to rest and organize my thoughts. I swear on whatever is left of my honor that I will not flee. I will give you my story, however… lacking it may be."   
  
"I will see you here in one hour. I've given Miss Granger a sleeping draught and will be taking her to the home of her parents. I daresay she could use love and rest at the moment."   
  
Dumbledore swept the limp Hermione into his arms and left Snape standing quite alone in his rooms, to attempt some sort of defense. As if there is any defense for what I have done, he cursed. He slipped a hand into his robes and idly fingered the poison. "You cannot, Severus," he whispered to himself. "You owe them--you owe HER, at the very least--an explanation." He pulled the vial and held it in his still trembling fingers, cuticles stained with blood. He felt vomit rise in his throat as he realized the blood was Hermione's. He solemnly returned the vial to his pocket, with a single thought.   
  
Later. 


	3. Solitary

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum  
  
Chapter Three.  
  
Solitary.   
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, et al.  
  
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Snape sighed and scrubbed his hands even more vigorously under the faucet. He didn't raise his eyes to the mirror above him. He had never watched himself cry before, today was certainly not the day to start. He turned off the taps and hastily dried his hands on his robes. An hour. Why had he only asked for an hour? An hour was hardly enough time to stop his violent trembling. The Muggle way of doing things takes much longer, he reflected. Before he could stop it, the memory flooded back…  
  
Lucius Malfoy, eyes high and cold; laughing as he snapped Snape's wand. "You have betrayed us for a filthy Mudblood," he had spat. "You deserve no less than to live as one of your precious Muggles." He delivered a swift kick to Snape's stomach, which sent him onto his knees.   
  
Snape rubbed his stomach gently as he remembered the searing pain. He lay down upon his sofa, bringing his hands to his face. In the dark crook of his elbow, he attempted to take a steadying breath. 'Perspective, that's what I need right now,' he thought. How to explain to Albus Dumbledore that all he had wanted, for one moment, was to… matter. How adolescent and self-pitying was that argument?   
  
He sighed again, his breath remaining within the crook of his arm. Stale and foul. Perhaps he would need to go back, way back, to the moment when--against all his judgment and every bit of logic in the known universe--he had fallen in love with Hermione Granger. Maybe he would need to explain to Dumbledore the sheer frustration he felt when, one recent night when his senses were apparently out to tea, he had advanced upon the lovely Miss Granger. And been met with the type of rejection he had always been met with in such endeavors--a semi-amused, disgusted witch, pushing him away amidst fits of giggles. To Miss Granger's credit, she had attempted to soften the blow, but had indeed made everything worse. Snape had sat, head in his hands, wondering why in the bloody hell he had just attempted to express an emotion to--of all people--a former student.   
  
Maybe Dumbledore could understand how Snape had been unable to forget this incident when shoved in a closet with said vixen. Particularly when his pride had just taken the deepest blow of all--he had been called a Muggle-lover, beaten, his wand broken--in front of a crowd of Death Eaters and Slytherin students. Perhaps he would even need to explain how much more the words "Muggle-lover" stung when Draco Malfoy was the one hurling them. Particularly when Draco Malfoy himself had broken every rule set forth for a Slytherin, and taken a Muggle-born as his bride.   
  
Maybe Dumbledore could understand the rage that had welled up within him when he walked the halls of Malfoy Manor, bleeding, and found Miss Granger--pardon me, Mrs. Malfoy. Wasn't it understandable that when the little tart grabbed him and shoved him into the closet, he would feel a bit of anger? Anger at her, obviously, for turning him away and then taking up with an even fouler creature. Anger at himself, for not having the wits to outfox the Malfoys before they found out about his infatuation with Hermione.  
  
It all boiled down to her, to this impertinent girl that had stood merely centimeters away from him, smelling better than anyone so vile had a right to smell. When she had turned to him and tried to whisper an explanation, he hadn't been able to control himself---would Dumbledore be able to understand the passion that overcame him? The urgency with which he pressed his lips to Hermione's? The incredible sense of victory when she did not fight him, when she in fact leaned into him, whispering something he couldn't hear and moving her hands over his back.   
  
"This is no use," Snape muttered into his arm. "I'm not becoming any more rational."   
  
Without looking up, he knew that Dumbledore was standing in the doorway. How quickly an hour passes. What is that Muggle expression, time flies when you're loathing yourself? Surely not.  
  
"Severus, I will not stand here all night. Begin talking and do it now."   
  
"Headmaster, sir… have a seat," Snape uttered from within his arm fort. He felt his legs being pushed aside as Dumbledore chose to seat himself on the sofa. Snape reluctantly pulled himself to a sitting position, his body screaming its protest. He stared straight ahead, not daring a glance at Dumbledore. "Why did she marry Malfoy?" he asked before he even realized he needed to know. Dumbledore sighed and shifted a bit in his seat.   
  
"Well, Severus, surely you understand that the Malfoy family is foremost in Voldemort's plans. And with your compromised position within Lucius' inner circle, we had to find another willing to spy. Draco Malfoy always did like Hermione."  
  
"I don't understand why it was allowed. She's Muggle-born. Is there anything Lucius hates more?"  
  
"Severus, I cannot pretend to understand how the mind of a Malfoy operates. I can only assume Miss Granger--"  
  
"Mrs. Malfoy," Snape hissed.  
  
"Miss Granger. She never legally married him, its all been arranged for months. I'm sorry, Severus, that you had to find out while on the floor of Lucius' dungeon, but I could not have safely communicated the matter to you. She is obviously working at great personal risk--as once were you."   
  
"I still am. I am still on your side, sir."   
  
"That remains to be seen, Severus. Do you intend to tell me that you have--" Dumbledore stumbled over his next words, "violated our Miss Granger, out of… jealousy?"   
  
"Albus. Please. Give me… allow me to gather my thoughts."  
  
"You have been given time with which to prepare. I demand an explanation now, before I am forced to call in others to assist me in this matter."   
  
"All right. I'm not implying that my behaviors were motivated by jealousy. Although I certainly did feel it. I'm sure you agree that nothing I felt could justify what I did. But jealousy certainly is not a reason to harm one so precious." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Snape's description of Hermione, but said nothing. Snape took a deep breath, pain shooting throughout his body as he did so, and continued. "They called me a Muggle-lover… they broke my wand… beat me. I've taken abuse from the Death Eaters for so long, while never truly being one of them. And never truly being one of you. Always on the outside, and, sir, I know that is no defense. It is childish. But Hermione, what she said tonight… it's the absolute truth. I envy you all your freedoms."  
  
"What freedom is there, Severus, in a Death Eaters hatred and love of destruction?"   
  
"The freedom of knowing where one belongs! Knowing that there are others like you, who feel as you do. The freedom of belonging to something, no matter how horrible that something may be. The freedom of community, of brethren, of camaraderie!" Snape was pacing the floor suddenly, heat and passion taking over his voice.   
  
"Severus, I must ask you to calm down."   
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm being quite irrational, I know."   
  
"So you were jealous of the Death Eaters, jealous of the Order, spited by Miss Granger… where exactly did you cast aside all reason and morality?"   
  
"I cannot explain myself, sir. I think I just felt the rage so keenly at that moment--I wanted… I only wanted…" he trailed off, unable or unwilling to put words to his horrid feelings.  
  
"You only wanted a bit of power. You only wanted to strike fear in someone's heart. Someone who mattered, someone who--you feel-- deserved it." Dumbledore spoke coolly, his voice for the moment free of judgment. Snape lowered his head in shame.   
  
"Help me, it's the truth," he murmured, falling again to his knees. Dumbledore stood suddenly and grabbed Snape by the shoulders. He lifted him and forced him to meet his eyes. At this intimacy, Snape felt himself close to breaking, screaming, crying--all things which Severus Snape was not inclined to do. Perhaps Dumbledore sensed this, understood that they had merely scratched the surface of the issue, and suddenly realized he wanted to hear no more for the night.  
  
"Rest, Severus. I shall contact you tomorrow… perhaps in the light of day, this will all look different." He released his hold on Snape and swept out of the room, leaving a tired and broken man, who again fell to the floor. 


	4. Vaporize

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.   
  
Chapter Four.  
  
Vaporize.  
  
Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR et al.  
  
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The rising sun bathed Snape's room in pale blue light. He had fallen into a deep sleep, and his eyes barely fluttered in the light. The room became gradually brighter, revealing the whole of Snape's black-clad form, sprawled quite comfortably on his bed. The sunlight also revealed one Hermione Granger, standing in the doorway, glaring at the figure on the bed. Her hair was still rather wild, knotted and hanging in clumps. She hadn't taken the time to comb it. She was still wearing her mom's dressing gown and had hastily shoved her feet into a pair of boots her dad wore rappelling.   
  
She looked positively murderous.  
  
Her eyes burned on Snape, who apparently could not feel her heated glare in his dream world. She let out a sound very close to a growl and suddenly raced for the bed.   
  
Snape had been surprised to fall into such a restful sleep, but not as surprised as he was when suddenly wrenched from it by a flying girl who landed quite heavily upon his chest. He instinctively grabbed the figure and threw her, perhaps a little too forcefully, onto the floor. She would have none of it and came at him again. His eyes widened with recognition as she drew her wand and pointed it, jabbed it rather, into his throat.   
  
"Hermione," he choked out.  
  
"Don't! Don't say my name. You deserve to die, you know that." He didn't refute this, merely stared up at her with a mixture of sorrow and something akin to desire. She was torn between wanting to kill him, and wanting to lay down beside him and sob into his chest. She voted for the first feeling, and whispered a curse. He immediately began to convulse, vomit bubbling rather unpleasantly from his mouth, choking him. She watched with pleasure as he began to turn blue, violently clawing at the sheets and her robes. "What's the matter, dear Severus? Can't you accept your much deserved punishment?" even as she uttered the words she was horrified. She was not acting at all like Hermione Granger acts. She placed her wand back on Snape and muttered a counter curse. He stopped convulsing. She brought over a wastebasket from a corner of the room and turned her back while he spat out the remaining vomit and wiped himself clean.   
  
"I'm sorry, dear girl," he whispered, his voice raw--whether from the curse or emotion, she couldn't tell. She rounded on him, eyes flashing.   
  
"Sorry?" she seethed. "SORRY?"   
  
"Hardly sufficient, I know."   
  
"I don't know what would be sufficient. Is there anything that can make up for what you've done to me?"  
  
"That's strange, I was going to ask you that very same question."  
  
Hermione fell silent as she saw tears gathering in Snape's eyes. She had to blink and focus again--surely he wasn't crying. The Snape she knew didn't cry. Of course, the Snape she knew didn't rape women in closets, either.  
  
"Why did you do it--I mean, did you want to hurt me? Did you just get carried away, or were you really out to… to hurt me?" she choked on her last words, furiously brushing tears away. She hated admitted that he had hurt her, she supposed she was just as weak as he. But he had hurt her--not only with his force, but with the violent words of love he had whispered to her. He was certainly an unconventional rapist, she thought with a wry smile. He had whispered of how long he had waited to feel her, to look into her eyes--he was driven mad with how badly he wanted her.   
  
She didn't know at all whether to believe him. She wanted to, so desperately. What person doesn't want to believe that there is someone who loves them so much, they would rather have them screaming for mercy beneath them, than not have them at all.   
  
Or maybe it was just Hermione's desperate need to be loved, at any cost. She glared down upon Snape, who trembled slightly under her gaze. She felt suddenly like throwing her arms around him and demanding that he love her. "When did I become this?" she whispered.   
  
Something in her face had changed, Snape saw instantly. There was a slackening of her jaw, a dulling of the eyes. He reached up without thinking and stroked her cheek. She flinched but didn't pull away. "Let's get out of here," she said, almost forcefully. He stood up and slowly drew her closer, finding her compliant and soft in his arms.   
  
---  
  
Albus Dumbledore looked upon the scene with disbelief. Last night, Hermione had been extolling the virtues of homicide, and today she was finding solace in the very arms of her attacker? He wouldn't pretend to know the relationship that Severus and Hermione shared, but he had certainly not expected this. He cleared his throat loudly and they jerked apart, looking guilty.   
  
"Sir!" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks reddening.   
  
"Miss Granger. Please go wait for me outside," Dumbledore ordered softly. She immediately left, pulling the door shut behind her with a quick bow to Dumbledore, whose eyes were not on her at all.   
  
"Headmaster, I don't know what to say. She came here to find me, I had no knowledge--"  
  
"You had no knowledge? No idea at all, with all your wisdom, that she is in love with you?"  
  
Snape nearly choked. "In love with me? The impertinent chit tried to murder me!"   
  
"I daresay I can hardly blame her. I have a mind to do the task myself."   
  
"I'm afraid I'm taking my leave of you now," Snape said simply. He walked around the shocked older man, and gave Hermione a wink. She burst into the room. "Stupefy!" she shouted at Dumbledore. Caught quite unaware, he toppled to the ground, stiff and unblinking. She let out a little groan at the sight. "I'm so sorry, Professor!" she whispered as Snape grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the flat. 


	5. Fight or Flight

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.  
  
Chapter Five.  
  
Fight or Flight.  
  
Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR et al.  
  
A/N: If you are reading, will you please please please review? I know, I'm groveling, but I need reviews. I'm totally in the dark about what this story is like for the masses. Help me out, people! Thanks to those who have reviewed. I love you all!  
  
----  
  
"We probably ought to talk," Hermione said when they'd gotten safely away from Snape's flat and the stunned Dumbledore.   
  
"I need my wand back," Snape mused.  
  
"You need your wand to talk?" Hermione said bitingly.   
  
"Watch your tone when addressing me, Miss Granger." Snape snapped. He followed that with a murmured, "please," realizing that he was only alive because she had been kind enough not to kill him.  
  
But, was it kindness? Or was it something slightly more sinister. Her eyes were constantly changing, at one second harsh and fiery, at the next warm and needing. He had no way of knowing what was happening inside her head.   
  
"No, I don't need my wand to talk. But it would be entirely easier if I were to create a private place for us to talk."  
  
"Do you suppose they'll be looking for us?"  
  
"Use your head, Miss Granger. We've just attacked one of the most powerful wizards in existence. I fled from a head Death Eater's home, with his son's wife, whom I violated."   
  
"So the deck is pretty stacked against us," she sighed, slumping against a wall.   
  
"Which is precisely why we need to hide, to sort things out amongst ourselves. We'd better come back with a damn good story for everyone."   
  
"Perhaps a few things need to be explained, then," Hermione said, almost timidly. She had seen the wrath of Severus Snape, and although it was alluring, it was also dangerous. Even when he was unarmed.   
  
"Yes," he sighed. "Although I do want a few explanations of my own."   
  
----  
  
Hermione and Snape settled into an ordinary Muggle restaurant, after Hermione had stopped off to purchase clothes other than her mother's dressing gown. Snape had freshened up in a public restroom, rinsing the last traces of Hermione's spell from his face.   
  
"This is a rather nice place," Hermione commented idly, picking at her menu.  
  
"If by nice, you mean cheap and overcrowded, then I quite agree."   
  
"It's perfect for our purposes. I have little Muggle money left, and I doubt you have any." To which Snape responded by pulling a wallet from the folds of his coat, exposing a large amount of cash. Hermione gaped.   
  
"Honestly, girl, aren't you supposed to be the cleverest witch around?" Snape smirked. "Of course the Order is going to have me well-prepared for whatever circumstances may befall me."   
  
"Of course. The Order… always so prepared," she murmured, a bit angrily.  
  
"Do you have a grievance with the order, Miss Granger?"  
  
"I was forced to marry Draco Malfoy. Of course I have a grievance with the order."   
  
Snape's upper lip twitched with the pleasurable knowledge that Hermione had indeed not enjoyed her liaison with the young Mr. Malfoy."Speaking of that," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.  
  
"--How exactly did it come to pass that I got involved with Draco?" Hermione finished for him, looking a bit smug and also a bit irritated. "Certainly, let us relive that terrible experience."   
  
"If it's painful for you, of course you needn't--"   
  
"Oh, sod it. Of course I'm going to tell you, painful or not. Why else would we would be here?"  
  
"I assumed you wanted to hear why I--well. You know," he finished, awkwardly.   
  
"Yes. Well, I think understanding everything is important. You know, I am Hermione Granger--the infamous bookworm." They exchanged a slight smile, broken by the approach of a waiter to take orders. Snape coolly ordered for himself and Hermione, eliciting a huff of annoyance from her. "Thank you for ordering for me, father."   
  
Snape raised his eyes to her in surprise as the waiter retreated. "I'm sorry, I merely assumed-"  
  
"That I was incapable of deciding which food I would like to put into my mouth to feed my hunger?"   
  
Snape cast his eyes down again. "I never encountered this problem with any other dates."  
  
Hermione was torn between amusement that Snape had actually gone on dates and anger that he thought of her as his date. She was his attempted murderer, not his friendly companion! She managed to recover enough to smile winningly. "Well, maybe your other dates were just too afraid to speak up. I don't know many women who enjoy having controlling prats as dates!" She said this with all the forced charm she could muster.   
  
Snape was at a loss for words. Certainly not a problem he encountered often, he reflected. Snape was always ready with a biting comment. All at once the whole unlikelihood of his current position hit him, and he began laughing. Hermione looked at him, shocked, her water glass halfway to her mouth. "What precisely is so funny?" she hissed.   
  
"I believe some days there is no sense in the world," he laughed some more. She glared at him.   
  
"Explain what you're laughing about, you foolish man. Everyone is looking at us!"   
  
He tried to contain his laughter, and immediately Hermione wished she had kept her mouth shut. She rather enjoyed the sound of his laughter--she'd never heard it before. After he'd settled down, he took a large gulp of his water and a deep breath. "Where were we?" he asked in a small voice, as if ashamed that he'd knocked them off course.   
  
"I was going to explain about Malfoy," Hermione reminded him begrudgingly. She knew it was important to elucidate everything that had happened; particularly when it was all so jumbled. But she was not at all looking forward to it. She took a deep breath and began her story.   
  
----  
  
It had been the sixth day since Harry's disappearance, and all in the Order were sick with worry. Hermione had been working as a research analyst for a private company, using the vast knowledge she possessed to settle all manner of affairs within the company. It was also a prime position--information was her business, and the Order needed nothing more than information.   
  
Everyone had been shocked when Hermione and Ron turned down jobs as Aurors--but even more shocked when Harry had done the same. Ron wasn't cut out for it, he admitted. He wasn't quite quick-thinking enough. Hermione was deadly smart, but not particularly good on her feet. And Harry--well, he'd seen enough, he explained. They all stayed in contact, but led their own lives, shrouded in secrecy.   
  
When Harry turned up missing, Hermione exhausted herself with the search. She couldn't openly track him, but her many contacts left her with a tome of notes and only one solid clue--Malfoy. Harry had last been seen in the company of Draco, though for what reason, no one knew.   
  
Hermione was reluctant to do it, but she knew her only option was to contact Draco. He'd never become fully entangled in the Death Eater inner circle, a point that he was quite sensitive about. Apparently they believed he was too soft--a laughable thought to Hermione, who had known few wizards who were crueler. She had a slight advantage, though. Draco Malfoy owed her a favor.  
  
She had put a Disillusionment charm on herself and lurked outside the Ministry, where Draco was now working. Yet another mystery Hermione didn't have the patience to solve. He had walked out 10 minutes before everyone else, prompting Hermione to snort a 'figures' before she could stop herself.   
  
"Well, Granger. Fancy, erm--hearing you here," he drawled. She wanted to place her nearly invisible hands around his throat and choke, but refrained. She needed him badly right now, and had to watch her step. Harry was at risk, she reminded herself.   
  
"Pleasant afternoon, isn't it, Draco?"   
  
"Cut the bullshit. What do you want?"   
  
Hermione had to bite her lip to restrain the torrent of insults bursting to get out. "I think it's time I cash in a certain favor that you owe me," she'd said, her tone measured. She was ready with her wand in case he tried to run. Just let that little jerk try to short change me! She thought angrily. Every muscle in her body was itching to attack the little shit.   
  
--  
  
"Well, well," Snape interjected airily. "When did Miss Granger become quite so violent?"   
  
"Shut it, you. I'm talking." she said with a hint of humor. He smirked and made a gesture for her to go on.  
  
---  
  
Draco had ushered the practically unseen Hermione to a secluded corner of a secluded shop in Hogsmeade. "Wouldn't want to be spotted talking to myself, now would I?" he said by way of explanation. Hermione gave a derisive snort but kept her temper in check. "Now, what do you want, Granger?"   
  
"I need a place to stay," she supplied immediately, having given this plenty of thought beforehand. Draco's eyebrows leapt up at the request.  
  
"Surely you don't mean my manor?" he scoffed. Hermione nodded, and then remembered he couldn't see her.  
  
"Yes, actually. I need to be someplace safe, you see? And I'm sure there's not a place more competently guarded than Malfoy Manor," she purred. Draco Malfoy was not above being manipulated with an ego stroke. He positively preened next to her, and she gave silent thanks that he could not see her face at that moment. He would have killed her on the spot.  
  
"Why exactly do you need to be safe?" Draco asked, clearly out of formality and not a genuine desire to know.   
  
"Well, to be honest…"  
  
"Honest. Heh."  
  
"To be HONEST," she forced, "I've fled from--well, the others. Dumbledore," she rushed, kicking herself because she'd almost said "the Order."   
  
"Have you really?" Draco said, a hint of interest creeping into his voice.   
  
"Yes. And I've been… well, considering… my options."  
  
"You mean you wish to join our side?" Fully interested now, Draco rounded on her.  
  
"Well… I'm not entirely sure, but. I get so sick of doing everything good. The only problem, is… well, obviously. I'm a Mudblood." She spat, the word even feeling disgusting in her mouth. She gave a shudder and tried to convince herself she would be forgiven for these horrible lies.   
  
"Well, yes. There's that little matter. But the Dark Lord himself is not pureblood. We can't all be perfect," Draco smarmed. Hermione clenched her fist, biting her fingernails into her palm. This is for the Order, she told herself.   
  
"Yes. And I'd be willing--" here she had to swallow hard, "to do whatever I needed to… to make up for… my heritage, you know."   
  
"I'll have to speak to my father."  
  
"No!" Hermione cried before she could stop herself. "I mean… I just need to be there for a few days. And given what I know of your father, I don't think he'll be overly pleased if you bring home a Mudblood," she shuddered again. Draco appeared to think this over and apparently agreed.   
  
"Secrecy it is."   
  
to be continued. 


	6. Morsmordre

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.  
  
Chapter 6.  
  
Morsmordre.  
  
---  
  
"And then Voldemort bungled the whole thing by calling for his Death Eaters," Snape filled in when Hermione took a pause. Her eyes were suddenly deadened.   
  
"I was alone there… in Malfoy Manor. Precisely what my plan called for, as I was able to search the manor uninterrupted. It just wasn't, shall we say, a pleasant experience."  
  
"A, forgive me love, Mudblood in the Darkest pureblood's house. I imagine even the walls hurled abuse at you." He leaned forward and gently touched Hermione's forearm. "But we both know the only trash here is Malfoy."   
  
"I'd just rather not---let's go on."   
  
-----  
  
When Draco and his father returned, Draco's entire manner towards Hermione changed. Before, she was something of a necessary annoyance, but he had long since ceased to care what she did or didn't do. The only time she came in handy was when he needed to get out of a tight spot, and she happened to be the only one capable of helping him. Since that day, he'd treated her slightly better. She had realized during their school years that his constant antagonism of her had little to do with her. It was mainly about appearances, and as an added bonus--it annoyed Harry.  
  
But this symbiotic relationship changed in the wake of the latest Death Eater gathering. Draco now regarded Hermione with a kind of sick curiosity--as if she were a wonderful new opportunity. Which, she soon learned, was exactly what she was. Hermione was laying in the secluded room where Draco had stuck her. She'd placed countless wards on the door, but no one had ever accused Draco of being unskilled with a wand. He penetrated her defenses with little effort and she found herself being dragged through the manor. She managed to escape his physical grip but she had nowhere to run. She had been forced to beg him to let her go.   
  
"Let you go, Granger? I'm not completely daft. They think I'm not strong enough to fight for Him. I need to prove myself here, and I think you'll do quite nicely."   
  
"Draco! I know you aren't daft… but listen, there must be a better way to do this. You need to prove yourself to them, I understand. And I agree--I'd be a great way to do that. But if you take me to your father right now, he's bound to ask how you got me."  
  
A look of comprehension replaced some of the rage on Draco's pointed face. "I'd have to admit that you've stayed here," he realized.   
  
"Yes, and I don't imagine your father would be pleased about that."   
  
"So what do you propose I do, Granger? Let you run away?"  
  
"Let me run away, yes. But catch me. I promise you, I won't hide. Give it a few days, and then find me. I swear on my honor that I won't make it hard to find me."  
  
"Your honor, Granger?"  
  
"Yes. This will work, it really will," Hermione gushed, completely confused. She had no idea what she was saying. It was as though someone else were planting these ideas in her head.  
  
"I don't get it, Granger. What's in this for you?"  
  
"A chance to prove that I'm not on Dumbledore's side anymore… a shot at a different life."   
  
Draco looked unconvinced, but quickly saw he had no real choice. "I better be able to find you, Mudblood," he hissed as he escorted her, once again Disillusioned, out of the manor. She didn't reply, but ran as fast as she could. She had to see Dumbledore, right away.   
  
---  
  
"And don't bother telling me it was stupid to ever promise such a thing to Malfoy, all right? I don't know what came over me."   
  
"You don't?"  
  
"What--you do?"  
  
"Of course. Death Eaters usually know when one is placed under Imperius."  
  
"What?" Hermione screeched, knocking over her water glass. Snape looked surprised.  
  
"I thought you knew."  
  
"No, I bloody well did not know! Leave us alone!" she snapped at the waiter who had approached with a fresh glass of water. He set her glass down and scurried away.   
  
"Wonderful. Listen, you are an incredibly talented witch. I do not argue this point. But did you honestly believe Lucius Malfoy didn't know someone had been in his home? Of course he knew you were there, silly girl. He didn't let on to Draco, but he cast the spell on Draco as well, forcing him to capture you."  
  
"And then he cast the spell on me, to let me get away?" Hermione asked incredulously.  
  
"No, you foolish child! Honestly, I thought you knew things. You said it yourself--how would it look if Draco brought his stowaway Mudblood to the attention of everyone? He wanted you to flee. Lucius loves a chase," he added with a bit of sarcasm.   
  
"But… did he intend me to go to Dumbledore?"  
  
"Yes, and he would have followed you if I hadn't interfered. I will admit, I wasn't aware that I was helping. I simply had good timing."  
  
"Jesus," Hermione whispered, sinking her head into her arms.   
  
"Don't dwell on it. It's happened."   
  
"That's a funny thing coming from you, the prince of dwellers."   
  
"Touché… keep going, love. I'm sorry I interrupted again."   
  
Hermione sighed. "I don't know how much of the rest of it was actually me, and how much was someone else's designs. Am I a total idiot?"   
  
"Absolutely not. You simply fell victim to someone quite stronger than you. Its certainly not your fault."  
  
She snorted but continued, resigned to the explanation and curious now to see how else he could augment her understanding of events.  
  
---  
  
Hermione went to Grimmauld Place immediately, hoping she would find Dumbledore there. She didn't, of course, but she found Lupin, the next best thing. She poured out her tale and tried to ignore his constant reprimands for the danger she had placed herself in.   
  
"We have to find Harry! And Malfoy is our only clue. Can you blame me for being a little reckless?" she had shouted. Lupin had shrugged mildly.   
  
---  
  
"Yes, that does sound like dear old Remus," Snape muttered grimly. Hermione chose to ignore him.  
  
---  
  
Hermione had been given tea and ordered to rest. Dumbledore would be contacted. Within the hour, he was at the door, looking very concerned. He was ushered into one of the upstairs bedrooms with Hermione. She had personally never seen him so tired and pinched. He looked thin and quite older than she remembered. He smiled wanly at her.   
  
"What's the trouble, Miss Granger?" Within minutes she had poured out the entire story, her desperation, the way she had seemingly pulled the plan from nowhere. Dumbledore looked grim. He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry to say this, Hermione, but you are in quite a spot. We don't need to incite the wrath of a Malfoy. Not now, when they may have Harry."   
  
"They DO have him, sir. I know it. I just can't prove it," she admitted angrily. It hurt to say that. It hurt to imagine Harry, who knows where, counting on the Order--who were unable to help him at all.   
  
"When Malfoy apprehends you, you must pretend to think quickly. You must find a way to entice Draco to save your life--and even…" Dumbledore lowered his eyes. Hermione leaned forward.   
  
"Even what, sir?"   
  
"Make him take you as his bride."  
  
"What? He'd never go for it! I'm not pureblood."  
  
"No, you're not. And that will be difficult to overcome--but it must be done. You must make Draco see that killing you would be an incredible waste. Get him to imagine the possibilities! One of the Gryffindor Three, come to the Dark Side because of Draco Malfoy!"  
  
"He'll love it."   
  
"Indeed. And, don't worry--we'll make sure any marriage is not legally binding."  
  
Hermione sat in silence, pondering this new turn. She was awfully keen on knowing why Dumbledore had come up with this plan--and why, precisely, he was so enthusiastic about it. She'd expected him to help her escape, not invent new ways to imprison her. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke timidly.  
  
"Do you reckon this will help us find Harry?"   
  
"I certainly hope so. More than that, it will give a direct link into Malfoy's actions."  
  
"So, I'm to be a spy now?"  
  
"Something like that," Dumbledore agreed. Hermione stewed inside but said nothing--there are certain people one doesn't challenge. Albus Dumbledore is definitely one of those people. She merely nodded in deference. Dumbledore left several minutes later, bidding Hermione good luck and telling her, "At the first sign of danger, grasp this and call my name," passing her a small, unassuming rock. "It will find me and I will come to your aid."   
  
"Thank you sir."   
  
Hermione lay in bed that night, hundreds of questions swirling about in her overactive brain. She tossed and turned. Why had Dumbledore suggested marriage? He didn't even have to think about it. The plan was right there on the tip of his tongue, like he'd been waiting for the right time.

----

"Well, of course. Dumbledore does know everything, doesn't he? He had a hunch that you'd go to Draco, that Draco would sell you to his father. He had to think of something." Snape pointed out.

"Something that helps the Order. NOT something that saves my life!"

"We all have to sacrifice. No matter. You didn't die. Continue, please."

---

The night passed with Hermione in a fitful sleep, dreaming of Draco's face (horrifying enough) descending upon her, spitting insults. Suddenly Snape swooped down upon Draco and wrenched Hermione away, taking her into his arms and--  
  
"Hermione, you may want to wake up now." Lupin's voice drifted in from the hallway. Hermione jerked awake, keenly aware that she had just kissed Snape. It took her a few minutes to gather herself.  
  
---  
  
"Is kissing me really that disconcerting?" Snape wondered humorously. Hermione cast a glare at him, he withered, she continued.  
  
---  
  
Hermione wiled away the early morning hours in the house, eating breakfast and hoping for a pleasant day. She finally decided to go into Hogsmeade. She could do with some sweets. Hopefully Draco had the sense not to descend upon her in Hogsmeade. She dressed quickly, carefully. Making sure she didn't particularly stand out.  
  
---  
  
"But to me, you always stand out," Snape admitted grimly--as though this were not a compliment at all, but a rather annoying behavior that she should cease at once.   
  
"I suppose. You managed to find me, didn't you?"   
  
"No, I believe you found me. I distinctly remember."   
  
"You tell it, then, if you're so smart. It's about time you took over." As if agreeing, the waiter finally appeared with their food. Hermione dug ravenously in and looked at Snape expectantly. He sighed.   
  
"All right. I suppose I do need to tell you a few things about our, hmm, encounter."   
  
---  
  
Snape had felt like a little chemical assistance, and not of the potions variety. So he headed for the Three Broomsticks--to drink away his pain, he thought with a sardonic smile. 'How very apropos. I'm feeling particularly self-loathing, so why not compound the problem by imbibing large quantities of alcohol and attempting to think about my life philosophically?'  
  
As it happened, Hermione popped in to the Three Broomsticks. Snape saw her enter, but as her existence was rather tangential to his, barely noted it. Until she appeared at his elbow, slightly flushed and whispering urgently. "Professor Snape, I need to speak to you immediately--privately," she emphasized, going so far as to take his arm and attempt to pull him up from his stool. He had sneered at her, but complied. He'd had just about enough Firewhiskey for this to seem a good idea.   
  
She had led him to a bench on the outskirts of the main business area and roughly pulled him to a sitting position beside her. Again, the Firewhiskey prevented Snape from objecting heartily, as he would normally have done. In fact, as he looked upon Hermione's urgent countenance, he found himself feeling very different, indeed.   
  
"Professor, I know you still spy sometimes with, you know, the Death Eaters… sorry!" she hastily said as Snape's jaw set.  
  
"No bother, continue," he had mumbled, feeling very disoriented. What in the world was she on about?  
  
"Well. I don't know if you know this, but I was at Malfoy's house. Looking for Harry, you know. I didn't find him, obviously, but I was thinking--well, if the Death Eaters have Harry, surely they all know about it?"  
  
"A perfectly logical argument. Flawed only in one regard. We have no inkling of the idiot boy's whereabouts."   
  
Hermione finally realized that Snape's behavior was perhaps a bit altered due to his visit to the pub. She attempted to catch his eye but found that he was having difficulty keeping his eyes in one spot.   
  
"Of course you're drunk. I need you, and you're drunk." she muttered.  
  
"Miss Granger, you know enough about the world to find Potter on your own, I'm quite sure. You don't need me."  
  
There was a silence; Snape felt rather comfortable within it, but Hermione looked quite consternated. "What's wrong, Miss Granger? Anything I might be able to help you with?" he asked. Suddenly she turned on him.   
  
"You should drink more often, Professor. You're almost agreeable."  
  
"I shall never drink again," he joked. Another silence fell. Snape felt distinctly uncomfortable this time, mainly due to the way he had suddenly noticed Miss Granger's proximity. He attempted to slide away but found the bench was not really overlarge. He was rather stuck. And their thighs were touching.


	7. Firewhiskey and Old Friends

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.  
  
Chapter 7.  
  
Firewhiskey and Old Friends.  
  
It was as if he had just realized that Hermione Granger was a woman. "Oh, damn it all," he whispered.   
  
"What was that?" she snapped. He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively.   
  
"I can't help you, silly girl. Get away from me." Snape was only vaguely familiar with the sensation in the pit of his stomach--a rather pleasant tickling feeling. His hands began to move of their own accord, entirely too close to Miss Granger's leg. She apparently noticed this and attempted to shift away, running into the same problem with the small bench that he had minutes prior.  
  
"Professor, are you… feeling altogether well?" she ventured. He gave a short scoff.   
  
"Must you always ask questions, you insufferable--"  
  
"Know it all?" she finished with a slightly wounded smile. He turned his face fully towards hers with appreciation. He noticed she had faint dark circles beneath her eyes--probably worried about Potter, he reflected.   
  
"Are you in love with Potter?" he asked idly, wondering vaguely exactly how much he'd had to drink. Asking her about her love life, of all things. Hermione appeared as stunned as Snape felt by the question, but recovered quite nicely.  
  
"No. He's merely an old, close friend. My tastes run in quite…opposite directions," she had admitted, a slight blush rising in her cheeks.  
  
---  
  
"And of course you didn't realize I was talking about you, did you?" Hermione piped up, mouth full of egg. Snape raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not. Well… for the record, I was."   
  
Snape didn't even know how to answer that.   
  
---  
  
He had felt a surge of triumph when she admitted she didn't love Potter. Years and all kinds of heroics had not sweetened Harry to Snape. They loathed each other with the same ferocity that they had always done. Snape wondered, too, about Weasley--they had dated in their sixth and seventh years, after all. But he found suddenly he was a bit afraid to hear her answer, and chose instead to pick at the hem of his robes. Hermione had never seen him act so awkward, so confused--he was normally graceful, always ready with a biting comment, never at a loss for what to do with his hands.   
  
"Professor, maybe you should get home," she suggested. She made to stand up and was entirely shocked when his hand closed around her arm and pulled her slightly, back down.   
  
"If you don't mind, Miss Granger, I'd enjoy you to stay with me." The little Snape in his mind was shouting at him. What do you think you're doing, you git?   
  
Apparently Hermione thought something similar, because she wrenched her arm away from him. He looked up at her; her face was contorted into something he didn't quite recognize. 'Probably revulsion,' he thought. 'What else would she feel?'  
  
"Professor, I--I actually need to go. I'm really sorry, but I have work early in the morning and I--"   
  
"It's fine, Granger. Go." he said, suddenly feeling even worse for the effort. She looked down at him with that same odd expression and inched away. She was probably afraid, he reflected--after all, he was hardly acting like the Snape she knew from school. She was either afraid he'd suddenly turn back into that Snape; or that he was indeed insane.  
  
----  
  
"Actually, I saw Draco lurking in the trees, staring at us. I wanted to sit with you, but I couldn't easily do that, could I?" Hermione said matter of factly, as if Snape should have seen Draco through the eyes in the back of his head.  
  
"Oh, of course!" he said. "Why didn't I guess Draco Malfoy could see us--indeed, why wasn't I aware of the marriage plan?"   
  
"Good question. You don't seem to be a very good member of the Order," she smirked. Snape's insides contracted at this seeming insult. Given the circumstances, he was able to quell the rage that was bubbling within him. For just a second there, she had sounded like good old Sirius--a death Snape had never lamented, he would freely admit. Apparently Hermione could see she had touched a nerve, for she gently cleared her throat for him to continue.   
  
----  
  
Hermione had hustled away, leaving Snape highly inebriated and also quite a bit angry. He reached down and grabbed a rock, for the sheer purpose of throwing it. He got up rather quickly and headed for Hogwarts--when in doubt, brew a potion. When incredibly horny, do the same. When tired… well, you get it. Snape liked to brew Potions. There was something ultimately appealing about it all. There were always answers. Everything could be simplified into ingredients, order, temperature, movements--there was no variable he could not account for. Despite the dead usefulness of Potions, far beyond any other branch of magic. The Killing Curse was certainly one of the most powerful bits of magic around--but there were an infinite number of potions which could kill the drinker. Not quite as dramatic as all the green light, but nevertheless effective.   
  
Snape didn't account for his serious lack of motor skills during his drunkenness. After he had spilled his third vial of armadillo bile, he decided to perhaps give up and retire for the night. He headed for his rooms, wearily deducting points from passing students, simply for breathing loudly. Couldn't they tell his head was throbbing? Granted it was not late at night… in fact it was relatively early, supper having just finished. 'Merlin's beard, did I really start drinking the second I woke up?' he wondered as he saw the sun was barely setting. He had not been much aware of the sun's position as he sat next to Hermione Granger in Hogsmeade. 'Oh, don't think of that now,' he scolded himself. He crawled rather hastily into bed, not bothering to change from his robes or even extinguish the one flame he had going. Sleep immediately enfolded him.   
  
It continued to enfold him, throughout the entire night and a large part of the next day. He blinked his eyes reluctantly open halfway through Sunday, feeling acutely ill. His stomach turned as he tried to move his head. It felt as though someone had placed bricks on either side of his head; he could not move it more than a millimetre either way. His eyes squeezed shut; even the slight rays of light he allowed in his room were far too bright. His entire body was throbbing. He tried to raise his hands to his head, but found that they were leaden. He let out a creaking groan; his vocal chords were apparently also very, very hung over. He had a vague memory involving Miss Granger, but couldn't quite grasp it over the throbbing within his head.   
  
Bad day for a hangover, he thought as his arm suddenly twinged. He managed to pull himself to a sitting position, yanking his sleeve up. "Damn," he muttered. Of all the things he'd wanted to do this day, going to face his fellow Death Eaters was not among them. Even if it wouldn't be the Dark Lord today--something which was a great relief, because he hardly thought the Dark Lord would appreciate his faithful follower being infatuated with Hermione Granger. His fireplace suddenly started sputtering, and he barely had time to pull the covers back before two masked Death Eaters were at his side, dragging him from the bed. Before he could even clear his head, he was being Flooed away. He barely had time to hope Dumbledore would notice.   
  
As they went up in flames, Snape felt one of his captors grab the back of his head. After that, he remembered nothing; felt nothing; and saw nothing. He blinked himself awake what could have been hours later, and found himself on a cold stone floor in the middle of a group of jeering Death Eaters. Knowing that this was definitely not a good place to be, Snape closed his eyes again, trying to think--trying to sort out what was happening, what had he done, had he been found out? A thousand fears managed to fly through his brain--that they'd get Dumbledore, that Minerva would be hurt, that their work would be compromised, that Hogwarts would be breached, that Hermione would be killed--  
  
"Yes, Hermione," someone close to him whispered. Snape immediately tensed. Clear your mind, Severus, he instructed. He felt immediately thoughts and emotions drain away--he was, after all, quite used to this. But he feared he was too late. They had seen enough of his feelings to know everything. He was going to die now.   
  
----  
  
Hermione couldn't suppress a gasp. Snape's eyes flicked over her unpleasantly.   
  
"No need for theatrics. Obviously I didn't die."   
  
Hermione reddened and lowered her eyes. Snape took a few moments to impress upon her that she needn't feel anything for him--although he wasn't sure she quite got the message.   
  
----  
  
"Hermione Granger." came the voice again. Snape stared determinedly forward, having been pulled to his knees. His hands were bound behind him in typical fashion when one faces the Inquisitorial Squad--a term that had been coincidentally and unwittingly adopted by Dolores Umbridge to describe those holding a similar reign of terror at Hogwarts. Snape had once stood where this very man stood. He had held his wand just as menacingly at another's throat. He did his best to shove these memories away, but not before they had been gleaned from his alcohol-muddled mind.   
  
"Yes, Severus. You were once one of us, and now you've betrayed us," came the voice again, and this time Snape could identify it as belonging to Lucius Malfoy. Snape's stomach fell but he kept all thoughts from his mind. It was all over, he knew, but he couldn't dwell on it. They would play on his fears. It was somehow all more terrifying having seen it before. Instead of being quite accustomed to it, Snape was terrified--he knew what awaited him, he had carried it out himself. He knew it was not pleasant.   
  
"Indeed?" he said, forcing a note of surprise into his voice. "And just how have I done that?"   
  
"I believe you were spotted with Hermione Granger," Lucius drawled. Snape's stomach convulsed again. Do what you want to me, he thought unconsciously--but don't touch Hermione. He wasn't quite sure why he felt so protective of her. Perhaps it was that over their seven-year stint at Hogwarts, Harry, Ron and Hermione had gotten into more trouble than any students past or present. Being in a state of nervousness over their actions had become a way of life for Hogwarts professors--even Snape, loather extraordinaire. He may have disliked them all, but he certainly hadn't wanted any of them to meet harm. Seeing Hermione had made him recall the feelings he had for her--that she was such a bright girl, but had chosen the entirely wrong path in life. She was not meant for dangerous activity.   
  
He pushed all these thoughts down as soon as they floated to the surface, but was having little luck. He knew Lucius was trying his best to draw forth these very thoughts. It was a silent battle, but by no means simple. They were equally skilled at Legilimency and Occlumency--one pulled, the other pushed.   
  
"Enough of this!" someone else snapped from behind Snape. He recognized the voice as a matured drawl of one Draco Malfoy. He didn't have to bother to suppress any emotions--he had none on the subject of young Mr. Malfoy. He was not any less nor any more annoying than any other overconfident Slytherin.   
  
"Can I help you, Draco?" his father asked coolly--clearly meaning, Draco, this is not your concern.   
  
"Yes. She was my territory. And the first thing he does is go and try to get her alone. I won't have that!" he snorted. Snape could have sworn he stomped his foot. He couldn't help thinking, what a whiny brat. Thankfully, Lucius had turned his attentions to his son.   
  
"I know all this, Draco. What do you propose we do?"   
  
"Kill him." Draco supplied instantly, a malicious gleam in his eye. Snape did not even flinch, he merely stared resolutely at the same spot on the floor. He knew suddenly, from Lucius' face alone, that he was to live--but perhaps he would wish he did not.   
  
"Come now, Draco. I don't think we want to kill someone who is of so much use to us. However, he has betrayed us, and that does deserve punishment. I rather think the Muggle-lover deserves a physical reminder of his treachery." he turned his eyes, cold through his slitted hood, upon Snape. He stared up into Lucius' eyes with no fear. He would meet this challenge; just as long as they didn't deprive him of his place in the group. It was too important.   
  
Snape stood up; he would not be intimidated. Lucius began his punishment speech: "My son has clearly marked Miss Granger as his own--of course, she is no longer Miss Granger. She is now Mrs. Draco Malfoy. She has abandoned the side of good to join us--I have not yet decided if I will allow her to stay. She must prove herself. She could be useful, after all. And she does make young Draco happy. You should have seen how she kicked and screamed--oh, he did well indeed," Lucius murmured, a hint of pride in his voice. "But apparently the bonds of marriage mean nothing to you, for I have reports that you entreated the company of Mrs. Malfoy--yesterday, in fact. A few short hours before her wedding was performed--right in this very room. A direct order was given to leave Hermione Granger alone--and you have betrayed that order. For the love of a filthy Mudblood. Gone against the word of your fellow Death Eaters, for what? The lowest form of being imaginable," he had spat. He punched Snape easily in the stomach, knocking him to his knees. He gave a feeble cough but was too stunned to do much else. Lucius delivered a kick to his shoulder, toppling Snape to the ground. Two random men rushed forward and began patting Snape down. They pulled his wand from his robes and handed it triumphantly to Lucius, who hauled Snape to a standing position. "You deserve no less than to live as one of your precious Muggles." He delivered a swift kick to Snape's stomach, which sent Snape to his knees again. He then cleanly snapped the wand in two; as Snape tried his best not to groan. Lucius threw the pieces down in front of Snape, who made to grab them. Stupid move, he reflected, as a foot trampled solidly on his outstretched hand.   
  
Snape had given a slight shudder at the pain coursing through his hand, but quickly turned his look to one of stony silence. He could not allow them to break him--even though they already had. Muggle-lover… Hermione married…. Snape felt himself unraveling inside as the group closed in upon him, wands at the ready. Random hexes flew at Snape from all directions- he found himself several feet in the air and bleeding within seconds. The Death Eaters allowed him to fall naturally onto the stones, crunching at least one metatarsal. Snape gritted his teeth but said nothing, reaching to carefully wipe the blood from his brow. A few drops gathered in his eyelashes, he blinked them away furiously. The last thing he needed was obstructed vision. As he lay bleeding on the floor, the second round of hexes began. He felt his consciousness beginning to ebb; waves of blackness washed over him as a wrenching pain fricasseed his nerve endings. He bit through his lip trying not to scream, blood was now pouring from his forehead, mouth, leg, arm, and judging from the wetness of his robe front, his chest.   
  
The fact that Snape had not received a beating this severe in ages registered with him--not even at the hands of the Dark Lord himself had he been subject to this humiliation. The word Muggle-lover reverberated in his mind. He was not… he didn't love anybody, he was Severus Snape, king of coldness and the comeback. He felt entirely childish, stranded in the middle of the floor with not a friendly face in sight. Hermione's face shimmered before him, replaced suddenly by Draco's. Pain lurched throughout his entire body. She's just a girl… but Snape couldn't help himself feeling as though something had been stolen from right beneath his nose.   
  
Something was stirring within him, something long dormant--something that had previously flared only before Sirius Black and Harry Potter. Memories of his childhood, his screaming father--memories of cowering in the corner. Memories of being laughed at, rejected, taunted, teased, abused--memories he had never been able to let go of. And in his drunken haze, he had not used his Pensieve before sleeping. All these thoughts were fair game for the Death Eaters, who could feed off his sudden rush of emotions as dogs on a freshly deceased animal. One raised his wand and levitated Snape, who had a horrible feeling that he could predict what was coming. Sure enough, he found himself upside down. "Like that, Snivellus?" the Eater jeered. Snape did everything in his power not to scream.  
  
----  
  
"It's amazing, Miss Granger," he said suddenly, breaking the tone of his story with a no-nonsense attitude. "for how long and at what length our childhood memories haunt us."   
  
"Is that something that happened to you?" she ventured.  
  
"Yes, yes. I had assumed Potter told you. The always exciting duo of Black and Potter."   
  
"I'm sure that was hard," she managed, trying to fight her surprise that Snape's hatred of Harry's dad had at least some basis. She had always just assumed Snape had been jealous.  
  
"Perhaps I was jealous," he said. Hermione covered her mouth with her hands. Don't say that's what you were thinking, you idiot. "But maybe he was just arrogant… maybe it was both."

"At any rate, they hit you pretty hard."   
  
"Yes, they did. I'd imagine its something like you feel when someone calls you a know-it-all. Or even a Mudblood. It hurts, and it has always hurt, and it may well continue to hurt." Snape lost himself in his thoughts for a minute. Hermione allowed him to sit in silence. His recollections were far more dangerous than hers had been. He continued again, with less fervor.  
  
----  
  
At the name Snivellus, Snape cracked. He emitted a sound that was a hybrid of a scream and a snarl; the tormenting Death Eater suddenly collapsed. Gasping, Snape landed on the ground, head first. He nearly lost consciousness, but managed to hang on by a thread. The remaining tormenters had taken a step back; he had just attacked Crabbe with no wand. Clearly his rage was out of control. Every wizard accidentally does things in anger, but for one as wise and emotionally controlled as Snape, it was unprecedented. He hadn't hurt anyone on accident since his childhood, before he'd learned anything about magical control. Snape seized the opportunity of their stunned silence to grab the wand from the unconcious Crabbe. He stood and in a single sweeping curse, knocked four of them flat. The others advanced upon him. Snape found himself disarmed again, but this time the element of surprise was on his side. As the men approached him with their wands outstretched, he resorted to physical combat, placing one solid blow to the solar plexus of the closest one. The others stepped back, allowing Snape a window of two seconds to retrieve his fallen wand and hex them against a wall. He was left facing only Lucius. At the first sign of blood, Draco had high-tailed it. He lifted his wand to Lucius.   
  
"Severus," he said in a deadly whisper. "Would you hurt an old friend?"   
  
"No," he admitted. "But then, since when did I have friends?" and promptly stunned Lucius. Before he left the room, he tried his best wide-spread memory charm. Hopefully, some of them would forget some of what had transpired. He didn't have time to stay and find out. With the stolen wand firmly in his hand, he ran as best as he could with his crushed foot and aching back. He had to find Dumbledore, had to warn him they might be compromised--had to find Hermione, where was Hermione…  
  
His thoughts continued in a similarly disorganized and frantic fashion as he weaved his way up the staircase. He began to recognize the place as Malfoy Manor. He would do well enough getting out, he had some sense of where he was going. He just had to hope not to run into Draco or Narcissa---or indeed, anyone.   
  
This was a vain hope, as around the first corner, he saw movement. He sucked in his breath and flattened himself against a wall. But all the mental preparation for capture was for naught when the wanderer came into his line of vision.   
  
"Professor Snape?" it gasped. Snape could say nothing. He merely stood there, in shock. Well, of course, his brain reasoned. She's married to Draco, she lives here now.   
  
"Miss Granger," he said, immediately wishing he hadn't, for now he had to correct himself. "Mrs. Malfoy, I mean," he scowled. Her eyes flickered.   
  
"What did they do to you?" she gasped as she absorbed all the details of his appearance. Snape choked back a laugh.   
  
"Punished me," he said with a note of irony. Suddenly his body tensed, he heard footsteps. "Someone's coming," he whispered, looking around for a hiding spot. Hermione grasped his hand and shoved him into a closet, squeezing herself in next to him.   
  
----  
  
"And I'm sure you remember what happened next," he muttered. Her eyes were suddenly fire again. Snape looked determinedly at his untouched breakfast platter.   
  
"I do. But I think we'd do well to recount the tale."   
  
"Now, really. You simple child. What good will it do?"   
  
"Quite a bit. Or would you rather I tell it? Perhaps we should both tell it--after all, it did happen to both of us," she said, a slight edge to her voice. His stomach did a flip at the idea of hearing her speak about it--he couldn't imagine. He thought he had experienced pain and humiliation, but rape must be the worst pain and humiliation ever. Even more disturbing was the idea that, despite all the pain he may have caused, Snape didn't know if he would refrain from doing it, given a second chance.


	8. Fogging

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.  
  
Chapter 8.  
  
Fogging.

A/N: WARNING. This chapter contains a somewhat graphic description of non-consensual sex. It is not blatantly violent nor is it smut, but if you are offended by sex, I would avoid this chapter.

In the closet, they both held their breath--someone's figure slipped past, then a few others. Hermione was slightly trembling; Snape was too confused to even move. He had just received a truly painful beating, then counterattacked against some of the most powerful wizards he knew. He'd found out that his former student was a rather intriguing woman, then a day later discovered said intriguing woman was married to someone else.  
  
It was all a bit much for Snape to handle, especially when he and Hermione were sharing very close quarters.   
  
Hermione's thoughts were running in similar confused circles. What was Snape even doing here? After yesterday afternoon, she'd thought of little else but him--even as she was captured and forced to marry Draco. Well, not really forced, she reflected. It was all part of the great Dumbledore's plan. Thankfully, Draco had decided that a consummation of the marriage was more than he could handle after the day's events, and Hermione had been spared having to have sex with him. She had been rather anxious on that point. There were a lot of people she wanted to bed, but Draco Malfoy was not among them. The man standing very close behind her, however, was.  
  
Snape tried not to inhale through his nose--well enough, since it felt as if it may have been broken, again. How many broken noses have I suffered? He wondered idly. Perhaps if it weren't so large; but there wasn't much he could do about the honking thing. He tried a steadying breath and found it hurt only a little, but also found that Hermione smelled very, very good. All at once, a subtle rage began to creep back into his tired veins. She had turned him down and then turned right around and married Draco Malfoy. What was she even thinking? Going to the dark side? That can't be true, he assured himself. After all her efforts for the Order, she couldn't be harboring evil tendencies… but her eyes did flash sometimes, with something quite akin to malice. Maybe that was just the effects of a friendship with Potter and Weasley. Or maybe she felt something like he did… maybe she got tired of being shunted sideways while others got the glory. Doing all the work while getting none of the credit. Never really belonging anywhere.  
  
Hermione shifted slightly. Snape was panting rather heavily, and it was hitting her right on the back of the neck. She could feel the moisture building in the air, between panting and sweating. It wasn't exactly a well ventilated closet. She could smell the remainder of his drinking binge on the air, as well as the unmistakable scent of blood. There was something else, too, which she supposed must just be his natural scent. She hadn't had many occasions on which to get close enough to smell him. At least not occasions with nothing else to think about. But all at once, it became overpowering. His warmth, his breath, his scent. She tried to scoot forward a few inches, to breathe, to stop that incessant chant in her head… I want him, I want him, I want him.  
  
Snape gritted his teeth as the blasted girl shifted yet again. He was trying to think here; excess movement was not required. Everything about her incensed him, from her faintly strawberry scent to the tendrils of hair that seemed to be, well---everywhere. Her dress robes, although quite nice, were rubbing against his cloak. The sound of silk on rough cotton was somehow not decreasing his annoyance. Yet it was altogether hard to be angry when she smelled like strawberries… and the chit shifted again.  
  
Hermione was quite oblivious to Snape's musings. She was hoping to get out of the closet as soon as possible. She was a little too comfortable with this proximity--and entirely uncomfortable at the same time. She knew Snape, at least she thought she did. And he didn't strike her as a man overly fond of physicality. Yesterday's incident was just the Firewhiskey, she'd told herself a hundred times. He doesn't actually like you. More to the point, you don't like him. Or at least you never did before. Respect him, yes; perhaps even admire. But you respect and admire McGonagall, too, and your loins don't burn for her!   
  
Snape was just beginning to feel less angry when Hermione suddenly laughed. The sound of her laughter was absolutely beautiful--he wasn't sure he'd really heard it before. How dare she have a beautiful laugh? How dare she make me feel these things? How dare she SHIFT AGAIN?  
  
Hermione felt Snape's entire body tense when she laughed. She turned around to apologize, and found their lips pressed together.  
  
Snape didn't know what came over him, but as she turned to him, he grabbed her head and pressed his lips to hers. At once he felt a surge of triumph. He had control of the situation once again. The triumph continued as she didn't wriggle away as he had imagined, as she pressed her lips back onto his and sort of, fell against his chest.  
  
His lips were softer than she'd imagined in her dreams, but he was by no means gentle. She couldn't pull away had she wanted to; he had her in a vise grip. But she didn't really try, either. She was quite content to kiss him and lean into him. He felt somewhat solid against her. Her hands weaved into his hair, feeling it slide beneath her fingers. Even that seemed sexy at the moment.  
  
Snape was very, very confused--and angry again. As she stroked his hair and let out the tiniest of moans, his rage bubbled over again. He was not doing this to make her happy, damn it all. He pulled away from her roughly and whispered, "I'm not altogether sure you should be enjoying this, Mrs. Malfoy." Her face slackened and she raised a hand to her eyes, as if to shield them. He pulled the hand roughly down. "If you're going to cry, Mrs. Malfoy, I'd like to see it," he snarled. He pulled her back into a kiss, but now she was fighting a little, trying to pry her hand from out of his grip. Her moves to pull away just made him try harder to keep her still. She let out a little, "ow!" and pulled harder.   
  
Despite having her hand crushed, Hermione was not finding this all unpleasant. It was like a little game, a miniature battle of wills in the broom closet. And his kisses kept coming, his tongue a bit pushy now, but not unwelcome. Surrendering control didn't feel too bad…  
  
As Hermione's enjoyment clearly grew, Snape's irritation went with it. He finally spun her around and pushed her face against the door. She was suddenly still and quiet beneath his hands, still soft and warm and smelling of strawberry… still Mrs. Malfoy. Still the little bitch that had caused this whole problem--still so much like him. But he'd conquered himself, hadn't he? He could set her right, too. Just as easily. Don't form connections. Don't fall in love.   
  
Snape has utterly lost it, she thought as he pressed her face against the door. Maybe he's just confused--he did just receive quite a beating, judging by the blood and bruising. He's justifiably angry at me--especially if he believes I truly betrayed the Order. "Professor Snape, I didn't really marry Malfoy!" she whispered. "It's just a rouse, for Dumbledore, you know?" she was getting more urgent as he violently turned her around again. She ought to gain some weight, she thought suddenly. She was sick of being tossed around like a rag doll.   
  
"On top of everything, you're going to lie to me?" he seethed. She tried to protest, but he had utterly abandoned reason. His erection was absolutely throbbing, which was really not anything different--every bit of him seemed to be throbbing. He didn't know whether he was aroused with anger, or just because she was so close to him--he couldn't honestly say he found her altogether beautiful. She was plain, mousy even--too busy reading to bother with looks. It was probably the fact that she wasn't beautiful. She was just way too much like Snape himself. Perhaps a tad more reasonable, but obviously a betrayer, a liar--just like he had been, like he continued to be.   
  
It took Hermione a few seconds to realize that the hard object pressing insistently into her stomach was Snape's, erm, manhood. She almost started giggling but looked into his eyes and lost all sense of humor. He was staring at her with ferocity, with rage--with hatred, almost. He savagely kissed her throat, biting the tender flesh near her collarbone, still staring insistently upward. She couldn't help but meet his eyes--the way they were smoldering was having far too much effect on her. She could feel her desire mounting, and was at once confused and pleased. At least her body knew what it wanted, even while her mind was deigning itself to run the hell away, as fast as possible.   
  
He couldn't stop himself, he began to pull at the cumbersome clothing separating their bodies. Hermione gasped in surprise but was not prepared to fight him off, he had her body exposed before she could clear her head. She gave a desperate push at his arm. "Stop," she whispered. He looked into her warm brown eyes, slowly filling with tears, and felt the biggest rage of hate he had yet. As she attempted to disentangle herself from him, he pushed his hips forward and slid easily inside her.   
  
I can't believe this is happening--that was the only thing going through Hermione's head. As he entered her, admittedly it was not painful--she'd been sufficiently prepared. But she had whispered stop--she had asked him to stop. "Please don't," she whispered again, futile though she knew it to be. He was already there, why not let him finish the job, she reasoned. She leaned her head back and let her tears flow, not caring now if they were heard.  
  
As her tears splattered onto his face, he thrust with more ferocity. He wasn't seeing Hermione at all, wasn't thinking about Hermione at all. He was thinking of the million and one ways he had gone wrong, how many chances he had to get out of this horrible mess, yet every move he made dug him in deeper. He couldn't betray Dumbledore, and he couldn't fully leave the Dark Lord either. He hadn't been able to set aside his personal feelings to save lives--he had given up on Potter's Occlumency--it had been a long time ago, but it was fresh in Snape's mind as a failure. Had he better prepared Potter, the prophecy would not have been destroyed. His Lord would not have been angry--he would have had all he wanted. Despite his allegiance to the Order, Snape could never quite shake the desire to please his Dark Lord. If Potter had stayed away from the Department of Mysteries, the school could have continued to operate under Umbridge, the world could be kept in the dark about the evil activity around them.   
  
Hermione was shaking now, trying to meet Snapes eyes, but he was staring somewhere past her, his eyes dark and troubled. She wanted to beat him off her, wanted to kiss his furrowed brow and say she would never have walked away from him had it not been for Malfoy--she wanted to say that she loved how strong he was, she loved his voice, his hands, his chest--she just did NOT love them forced upon her. She was sobbing suddenly as it hit her--Professor Snape was raping her, he was RAPING her! Hermione reached into her pocket and grabbed her wand. She wracked her brain but suddenly all of the spells she knew had disappeared--she could do nothing but claw feebly at his hands, which were firmly around her hips. She tried to scream but found her voice had also abandoned her. "Stop," she whispered again, pleading, desperate, trying to make him come to her, abandon his thoughts and realize what he was doing.   
  
"Stop?" he asked, his attention back on Hermione. He slowly began to withdraw, then plunged back inside with no warning. She bit her lip in pain but didn't cry out. "I would never want to stop, Hermione," he whispered, leaning into her ear. She shuddered at his use of her first name. "I've waited so long to feel something like this… forbidden fruit, indeed," he said, licking her neck. She shuddered again, more from the sensation of his warm tongue against her sweaty neck than fear. He lingered there for a moment, pressing his lips to her tender flesh. "Believe it or not, Hermione, I've always just wanted someone like you," he said with a smirk, gently shifting his hips to hit her in the most pleasurable way.   
  
An orgasm was threatening to wrack her body, even as her mind screamed No! This is all wrong! Suddenly she found her voice. "Professor, please. You're… please, stop," she said feebly, urgently. "Stop it!" she ordered again as he looked up into her face and stroked her cheek.   
  
"What is it Hermione? You don't want to be loved by someone as foul as me? What was it… sallow? Hook-nosed? Greasy? Or are you just more comfortable with pointed blondes?" he spat.  
  
"It's just… you're hurting me," she whispered. This was both true and false--her body couldn't have been enjoying it more; but her emotions were just starting to kick in. She could feel blood trickling down her thighs from his force, she gave a biting sob and fell forward as her body and emotions met in the most wounded, confused orgasm of her life.   
  
Snape had gone over the edge as she did, withdrawing and allowing her to slip to the floor. Her head now comfortably against his chest, he could feel each tear moistening his robes. 'Ah, well, they were bloody anyway,' he joked to himself. He looked down at the top of her head, which was shaking. Her hands were firmly grasping his upper arms, as if she were anchoring herself. Her entire body was slightly trembling, and suddenly he realized what he had just done. He hastily drew her robes back around her, noting with displeasure that she was bleeding.   
  
Hermione felt cold air suddenly on her back; the door had been wrenched open. Standing there, against all logic, was Albus Dumbledore. "Miss Granger!" he gasped, and then spotted Snape standing there, face swollen and bloody, shoulders wet with Hermione's tears and a tear in his sleeve where she had tried to claw him away. Dumbledore noted also the glazed look in Snape's eyes, the mechanical way in which he forced the words, "Hello, headmaster," as though they were merely meeting for tea.   
  
Dumbledore at once grabbed them both and Apparated into Snape's flat.   
  
Where Hermione promptly lost it; hurling abuse (and objects) around and at Snape. Where Dumbledore had demanded an explanation; where he had failed to give one. A sufficient one, at any rate,  
  
----  
  
"Well," Hermione whispered after several minutes of silence. There were tears glistening on her cheeks.   
  
"Miss Granger--I…" but Snape could find nothing to say. Not only had he just bared the very depths of his soul to this woman, she had admitted to being, well--excited by the whole event. Snape understood her rage now; it was twofold. Not only had he taken her dignity, he'd made her enjoy it. Without warning, he stood up and began to leave the restaurant, throwing a large enough wad of cash on the table to cover their meals and the disturbance of being there nearly two hours. Hermione sat at the table alone, trying to collect herself. She was so baffled to know that Snape had been raging about things that are nothing to do with her… she had never been a student of psychology, but had a fairly good intuition about people. She'd never taken Snape as the angry type--the suffering genius, perhaps. But never the suffering psychopath.   
  
After a few long minutes, she too stood and left the restaurant. She found no sign of Snape anywhere, and finally Apparated herself back to her parents' home. 


	9. Impassive

Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.

Impassive.

A/N: Thanks for reviews. I always appreciate them. Wink, wink.

Weeks passed in which Hermione didn't leave the Muggle world. She didn't use magic, didn't send owls, and promptly burned each letter Dumbledore sent by Muggle post. She wanted nothing to do with Dumbledore, she told herself. Nor with Snape. Not at all.   
  
Even as she thought she'd never like to see him again, she was devising ways that she could see him again. It wouldn't do to just show up at Hogwarts--not when she didn't care to face Dumbledore. And she couldn't easily show up in Hogsmeade or even Diagon Alley. She was sure the Malfoys had a price on her head by now. She had been married to Draco for less than a full day before Albus Dumbledore had shown up and taken her away.   
  
My entire world is ruined, she thought at least four times a day. She wanted to see Snape. She had to see Snape. She had to know more. His version of events had just raised more questions--like why had he chosen to express his feelings for her by raping her? Surely he could have simply asked her out to dinner?   
  
She wasn't going to pretend not to be angry with him. Of course he'd hurt her. But over the course of her seven years at Hogwarts--not to mention the terse relationship she had with her parents--she had learned that you can love people even after they hurt you. Take Harry and Ron. They had always shunted her aside, but she loved them just the same. At the thought of Harry, her insides gave a guilty squirm. She hadn't given up the search for Harry, per se, but she hadn't exactly done anything lately, either. She'd holed up in her parents' house, taking care of the long-neglected garden, dusting her father's library. Her parents continued to work full time, but made it clear that Hermione could stay as long as she needed. Although they didn't have all the details, they knew she had been in a terrible altercation with powerful Wizards. Hermione couldn't imagine telling her mother and father that not only had she been raped, but she found she was rather infatuated with the man who had done it.   
  
Not to say that I enjoyed it, she reasoned to herself. I most certainly didn't. But Snape himself didn't enjoy it. So can I really be angry?  
  
-----  
  
Dumbledore looked up at Snape sadly. "She has yet to return any of my owls or post letters," he explained. Snape sighed impatiently.   
  
"Let's just Apparate out there and get her, then. There are greater things at stake than her feelings," he spat.   
  
"Severus, please. We must make allowances. You, especially, should be making allowances, as I believe it is your fault she has retreated from us all." Dumbledore's voice was biting. Since Snape had returned, he had chosen to divulge a similar account of events to Dumbledore. He left out the crude details, of course, but made sure Dumbledore understood.   
  
Albus had been suitably shocked. He had thought Snape had been placed under Imperius by the Death Eaters--when he appeared in Malfoy Manor to rescue Severus and Hermione, he hadn't expected to find Snape was in his right mind--and he wasn't. He had remained in a state of catatonia, occasionally mumbling to himself or fumbling through his pockets, as Hermione spilled the whole tale in one confused and wounded breath. Dumbledore's heart had nearly stopped when she had said the word, "raped" and his eyes had instinctively gone to Severus. He had not reacted to this admission, merely stared at the floor.   
  
As Dumbledore had experience with those coming out from under Imperius, he had tried his best to be gentle with Snape. He had just assumed that Severus Snape would never have harmed Hermione, no matter how little he cared for her.   
  
It became alarmingly clear, as Snape continued to bow and allowed Miss Granger to hurl abuse at him without even a snapping comeback, that Dumbledore was wrong--Snape had in fact acted of his own accord.   
  
This fact alone sent rage boiling through Dumbledore's veins--but something in Severus' demeanor forced him to allow the man to explain himself--or try, anyway. Dumbledore had always been a giver of second, third, fourth chances.   
  
After learning the sordid details, Dumbledore was even less pleased with Snape. Now he understood that not only was Hermione in love with Severus, but Severus was in love with Hermione.  
  
I couldn't have hand-picked a less desirable situation, Dumbledore lamented to himself. He knew Hermione wanted to find Harry, but he also knew that Snape could give a flying lemon drop what happened to the boy. Voldemort had long since disappeared--not been defeated, admittedly, but no one knew where he was at any rate. His Death Eaters were still active, but no one had been killed in years. It was one of the most peaceful times of Dumbledore's life. He knew Harry would turn up. He couldn't be in mortal peril or they would all know it--Fawkes had disappeared along with Harry, meaning that the young Mr. Potter had a very faithful and magical stalker.   
  
Nevertheless, it would suit him nicely if he knew where Harry--and his bird--had gotten to. Hermione would be endlessly helpful in this endeavor, but as she had not seen fit to go back to work since her ordeal, she was of no use. This only increased Dumbledore's displeasure with Snape. Especially since the situation had taken a much more perilious turn of late--another of Hermione's good friends had suddenly gone missing. Ron Weasley was admittedly less important in the grand scheme of things, but Dumbledore didn't want any of his Order members missing--particularly ones so central to operations. Ron wasn't an Auror, true, but he was pretty good at Quidditch. Never good enough to play for a national team, but he had come back to Hogwarts to take over Flying lessons after Madam Hooch's retirement.   
  
The disappearance of a Hogwarts professor could not be ignored for long--soon there would be students to answer to, then parents, then the general Wizarding community. They couldn't have a panic arise. They needed Miss Granger, and they needed her now.   
  
-----  
  
"Hermione, dear, there were three more letters for you today," her mother called. Hermione pulled her pillow over her head. She didn't care. She really didn't. Of course, there was this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach--but she didn't care. They could all sod off. They really could.   
  
Hermione nervously opened the first envelope a few minutes later. It was addressed in Dumbledore's thin script, but she knew Snape wasn't past disguising his handwriting to get to her. Then again--why would he want to talk to her? It was probably all just as well to him that she'd gone off. Nothing more to remind him of what he'd done. He could return to his days of snarking at students and being thoroughly disdainful of everything around him. Snape didn't need anyone with half-witted ideas about love interrupting his work.   
  
She unfolded the paper with dread, and was somewhat relieved to find Dumbledore's handwriting on the parchment. 'Miss Granger. It is imperative that you come to Hogwarts. There is a very urgent matter with which you would be of limitless help. Professor Snape has agreed not to see you, if you wish it so. There is much I must explain to you and much more we must discuss. Please answer by owl, if possible, and I will arrange a time for an envoy to pick you up. Albus.'   
  
Hermione crumpled the parchment with a sigh. How could she ignore that? Obviously something had gone horribly wrong. All at once, it came to her. "Ron," she muttered. She immediately flew into action, packing her trunks, hurriedly telling her parents where she was going. She left the trunks by the front door and ran as fast as possible to the Leaky Cauldron. She huffed her way into Diagon Alley, the only place she knew to find an owl. She scrawled, "Dumbledore, I'll be coming. Please tell me when." and hastily sealed it. As the owl soared off into the sky, Hermione felt someone sidle up next to her. She gave a gasp of recognition and suddenly collapsed.   
  
Surprised cries of the witches around her did nothing to bring her from her state of unconsciousness. Someone had the sense to lift her up and carry her towards the nearest shop, where she was fanned, water splashed upon her face. She did not wake, however. She merely stayed completely still, her breathing shallow.   
  
I seem to have fallen into a pool of shadows, she thought. But how can that be? You can't fall into shadows, they aren't actual substances, after all. That's a curious thought. Look at the darkness. I don't know if I have ever seen such complete darkness before.   
  
"'ere now, what's all this?" came a curious and gruff voice from outside the crowd of spectators. Rubeus Hagrid parted the crowd and gave a short gasp when he saw Hermione, sprawled unconscious on a tabletop. He gently collected her into his arms, rather like a sack of potatoes, and headed out into Diagon Alley. He would get her back to Hogwarts safely, he told himself. No matter what.  
  
I am flying. I am flying in a rather solid cloud. My cloud smells a lot like moleskin and dirt---perhaps my cloud is close to the ground. Or even underground. Can a cloud be underground? I remember all the types of clouds. I like cumulus clouds the best. They are very fluffy… this must not be a cumulus cloud, then. It's not fluffy at all.  
  
Hagrid plowed through the crowds in Diagon Alley. He was running towards Gringotts. Safest place in the world, he thought, safest except for Hogwarts.   
  
It's cold. It's very cold and it smells like mold. Cold… mold… those rhyme. I'm here! I'm here in a cloud, in a cold moldy cloud that is NOT cumulus.   
  
Hagrid gently set Hermione on a chair in the Gringotts lobby. A particularly mean looking goblin approached them. "Keep her safe," he croaked to the goblin, who looked quite affronted but nodded nevertheless. "I've got ter find Dumbledore," he added. The goblin nodded in deference; Dumbledore's business at Gringotts was never questioned. The goblin motioned for a trolley, into which he placed Hermione, and wheeled her away. Hagrid gave her a backward glance before leaving the bank, intent on getting back to Hogwarts.  
  
As he entered Dumbledore's office, he didn't get to speak before four cries of alarm went up.   
  
"Where is Hermione?" Professor McGonagall demanded, as if Hagrid had eaten her or something.   
  
"She… found her…" he panted. "Diagon Alley. Unconscious, she was."  
  
"Where is she NOW?" Professor Snape snapped from his corner.   
  
"Left her… Gringotts. Couldn'ta risked bringin' 'er back, he mighta seen me," Hagrid explained, his breath finally coming back to him. Dumbledore gestured him into a chair.   
  
"Who might have seen you?" Snape snapped again. Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet everyone.  
  
"It came to my attention early this morning that Harry and Ron have indeed been captured by a Death Eater." Snape went slack at this pronouncement--surely he would have known if it had been his own group? But Dumbledore didn't look to him, so he kept quiet. "Although I have every reason to believe this man acted alone, and not on orders from any higher-ups in Voldemort's organization. From what we know, the Death Eaters have heard nothing new from Voldemort in years, now. Is that correct, Severus?"   
  
All eyes turned to Snape, who stood formally.   
  
"That's correct, sir. We--that is to say, the Death Eaters, have no instructions or contact with the Dark Lord."   
  
"So, we must assume Draco Malfoy is operating on his own terms." A gasp went through the crowd at hearing Draco's name. Snape sunk back down into his seat. He should have seen this coming… should have known. Draco would do anything to be considered in the fold--he'd gotten Harry, almost had Hermione, and now had Ron. For a second, Snape imagined himself doing the same with Sirius, Remus, and Peter--that would have indeed been a beautiful revenge. One Draco Malfoy was not above desiring.   
  
"I sent Hagrid to collect Hermione, who is in incredible danger. She not only lied to Draco and his father, she escaped from under their noses--admittedly, that was my fault."   
  
Snape refrained from pointing out it was also Hermione's fault, for being so foolish as to ever entreat Malfoy's help with anything. She simply saw too much good in people, much like Dumbledore himself. McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Flitwick began talking in secretive tones, carefully leaving Snape out of the conversation. He sat for a moment, then approached Hagrid. "You say she is at Gringotts?" he asked quietly. Hagrid nodded. "Couldn't think of nowhere safer," he explained. Snape nodded and retreated quietly from the room. He would get to her first. If Malfoy had used the same spell he had on Harry and Ron, she wouldn't stand a chance.   
  
Snape strode purposefully, but he was beleaguered by doubt. There was no evidence that Malfoy was using the Impassive Charm. Snape had used it himself; it was highly dangerous and not readily taught. Hardly anyone knew what it was, and probably for good reason. The Impassive Curse operated by taking away one's pain, leaving them neither unhappy nor happy, neither angry nor pleased--merely existing in a somewhat disconnected way. Thoughts would flow and not connect, all things would be regarded with no importance--one suffering the Impassive Curse could walk straight at an oncoming train and think, "That train is moving awfully fast. Cheetahs also move fast. Perhaps the train is a cheetah," or something of the sort. No sense of importance or urgency could be imposed upon an Impassive one--everything was rather intriguing and funny.   
  
It would have been quite clever of Malfoy. All you had to do was place the curse and wait; sooner or later the cursed one would wander somewhere abandoned, perhaps chasing a butterfly. And you could apprehend them; given that they wouldn't care, it would not be difficult to do. As Snape headed for Gringotts, he only hoped Hermione had enough natural intelligence to counter the worst of the charm. Of course, given her recent state of mind, an escape from reason might appeal to her too much. Snape strode faster, bursting into the bank at top speed and demanding to see Miss Hermione Granger, on behalf of Albus Dumbledore. The goblins regarded him suspiciously and subjected him to fourteen tests before determining his intentions were honorable. They escorted him to a room hidden deep within the vaults, presumably some sort of employee lounge. Hermione was sitting upright in a chair, head lolling, giggling slightly about something. Snape's heart sank; it appeared to be Impassive, after all. He took just one moment to lament his life. Why does everything happen to me?   
  
He carefully approached Hermione, casting a glance at his goblin escort that clearly said 'you can leave us now'. The goblin did, albeit with a huff of disapproval. Snape crouched down beside Hermione's chair and gently took her wrist. Her pulse was a little slower than normal, but not dangerous. He tried to get her attention by gently shaking her. "Miss Granger," he whispered. She didn't seem to respond. He sat back onto the floor and tried to think how he was going to get her out of here without being spotted. He would just have to Apparate, he supposed. Obviously not straight out of Gringotts--he shuddered to imagine the types of punishment the goblins had devised for that--but he could go straight outside and get away with her.   
  
He lifted her from her seat but insisted she walk on her own. "Try to walk, Miss Granger. You haven't forgotten how."  
  
"I don't want to," she answered, her voice somewhat lilting. Snape's heart fell even further into his stomach. Definitely Impassive. Damn it all. He couldn't carry her out, that would look altogether improper. He battled with himself for a moment, and realized he had no other easy choices. "Imperio," he whispered, pointing his wand discreetly at her. He then focused all his will on making her walk, which she did. He held his wand at her back and made sure he kept thinking, 'Walk.'  
  
It was not an easy task, but they arrived outside the bank just as the sun was beginning to set. Snape lifted the curse and felt thoroughly ill; he hadn't used Imperius in a long time, and had not enjoyed doing it. He wrapped his cloak around Hermione and made sure he was holding her tightly, then Apparated them to the gates of Hogwarts. He was a little right of where he intended to land, and had to disentangle Hermione from an overzealous oleander shrub. Any other wizard would have let this mistake go, but Snape cursed himself. He wasn't paying enough attention. He was too distracted by her to take proper care.   
  
He stood for a moment, holding her gently as she leaned somewhat into him. "I feel as if I'm dreaming," she said suddenly, closing her eyes. "It feels rather pleasant, I think… well, it felt pleasant a second ago… it seems to come and go," she blathered on. Snape was listening keenly; if she were feeling different emotions and was aware of feeling them, the curse did not have a very strong hold on her. "I wonder if this is really Severus," she said, poking Snape suddenly in the chest. "I can't really be sure."   
  
"It's really me, Miss Granger. Now kindly try to focus and let's walk up to the castle." he instructed, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth he felt at hearing her use his name with such familiarity... Severus.  
  
"Oh, am I at Hogwarts? I wonder if I will see Dumbledore. He's a nice chap… I like those flowers," she added, pointing to the oleanders. Snape shook his head and began to march Hermione determinedly forward. She lollygagged as much as possible, sometimes lapsing into total silence, closing her eyes and teetering dangerously. Snape kept a firm hold on the back of her robes and finally entered the castle with her. Dumbledore was standing, a slightly bemused expression on his face.   
  
"Well done, Severus."  
  
"Impassive Curse, sir," he explained as Hermione wandered up and gave Dumbledore's beard a tug. His face gave a twitch of amusement, then his eyes settled on Snape's.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy was smart enough to think of this?" he asked Snape as Hermione wandered a bit away and giggled at the wall. Peeves suddenly popped out of nowhere. "I remember this one! Bushy Granger, book-nose Granger!" he taunted, bobbing around her head.   
  
"Look, it's a funny floating man," she said with a lackluster excitement, turning around to face Snape. "See, Severus, see?"   
  
Snape turned desperately to Dumbledore. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I've never seen anyone successfully cured from the curse."   
  
"I have," Dumbledore admittedly grimly. "But it takes quite a bit of work. And some of the after effects are a bit... undesirable.One must be entirely dedicated to the recovery, and with all our efforts on finding Harry and Ron, I don't think it shall be easy. "   
  
Snape tried to squash the emotion rising within him. "Despite the extreme interest I have in a manhunt for the golden boy and his best friend," he said sarcastically, "I think I can spare the time to help Miss Granger."  
  
They both turned to look at Hermione who was now leaning dangerously close to one of the torches lining the corridor. Snape rushed forward and yanked her away as a tendril of her hair began to smoke. "No, Miss Granger. That would hurt you," he explained in a condescending manner, as if she were a child.  
  
"It's pretty," she said idly, suddenly touching Snape's face. He stiffened and pushed her hand down. "No," he said again, feeling ridiculously as though he were training a puppy. Dumbledore gave a soft sigh. "Very well, Severus. I just hope you are able to keep yourself in line around a defenseless Miss Granger. Don't doubt that I will be watching your every move."


End file.
